Comfort
by SecretReading
Summary: "Her sobs turned into wails, finally letting loose all that had been held back for so long, letting the man she knew as her best friend be her anchor as poured her heart out. Clint felt his heart break as the strongest woman he had ever known faced her demons, battling her internal monsters as he held her." Clintasha oneshot, purely friendship.


Clint sat across from Natasha, who sat staring blankly at the peeling wall in front of her in the crappy hotel room they had been laying low in for the past few days. The two of them, using their sharp wit and even sharper skills, had just barely made it out alive after a brutal ambush and dark revelations left Clint a lot more worse for wear and Natasha shaken to the core.

They had just arrived after escaping by the skin of their teeth, only having arrived back at their temporary hideout mere minutes ago. Clint had collapsed onto the moulding sofa after peeling off his vest and belts, careful to avoid the hidden spring poking up through the cushion he had sat on earlier, not wanting anymore injuries to add onto his already extensive list. Natasha had slid down onto the floor, leaning against the opposite end of the tattered piece of furniture and had been staring at the hotel wall ever since.

They had been out patrolling the streets for a man who had been supposedly been running a human trafficking ring in the streets of Bangkok, when shot had rang through the air, the speeding bullet just nicking Clint on his left bicep, but enough to make him cry out in pain and drop to the cold pavement of the trash-littered alleyway.

Natasha had been at his side in a flash, slipping her slim but strong arms under the archer's shoulders to help him up, and pulling him over behind an industrial-sized dumpster, crouching low to the ground and scanning the towering rooftops for the unknown sniper. Just as Clint had tied off the piece of shredded cloth around the bleeding wound, Natasha caught the glint of a gun flashing in the pale moonlight, and hissed under her breath.

"Damn, they're up a little high, aren't they Barton? Don't suppose you can make a shot like that with your injury can you?"

She felt her partner shift against her, poking her ribs slightly in protest to her sly comment. "You know I can, it's just a graze. I just need the right vantage point to fire from, and crouching behind this smelly old dumpster isn't going to give me any advantages.

The Black Widow had huffed, before a muscled arm had snaked around her throat and pulled her slight form close to her attacker's chest. His breath smelt downright foul as it rolled over her neck in waves, her heart pounded against her chest, but she took a deep breath and forced her muscles to relax, made sure her breathing was even and her silky smooth voice was steady before she spoke.

"And who are you supposed to be?" She asked with a bored tone, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Clint was nowhere in sight, having rolled away the moment he heard the scrabble of footsteps to his left, not realising until he was safely out of view that Natasha had been captured.

"Don't try to play games with me, Widow. You know exactly who I am, don't you remember my little spider?" He asked with a harsh Russian accent, his sickeningly familiar voice pounding through her head as vicious memories flooded back.

That was the voice that she remembered throughout her childhood, the voice that slapped her whenever she had done something wrong, or not up to his standards, the voice that made her kill for the first time, the voice that supplied her with her first mission, the voice that put a price on her head when she escaped. It was the voice that still appeared within the recesses of her darkest dreams in her fitful bouts of sleep.

It had been Ivan Petrovitch, her old handler from the Red Room.

Clint had been there when Ivan had shouted into the night, in an attempt to taunt the archer from his hiding place, but he had refused to budge. The disgusting rat of a man had shouted out vile things, misdeeds that Natasha had apparently done in her past, things like his dear friend grinning as she bathed in blood, laughing as she slit men's throats, all sorts of horrible things that made Clint cringe with every nasty word.

He had heard Natasha's distraught gasp as the man mentioned something about a 'Red Room', and decided that he had heard enough. He had rolled forward, drawing back his bow and taking out the only two thugs that surrounded Natasha's attacker, leaving him, Natasha and the man who had introduced himself as Ivan Petrovitch. Clint really didn't care for what was spewing from the man's mouth, only paying attention to the slight crumpled features of his best friend, hating how she looked like she was about to throw up, he wanted it to go away.

Before he even had a chance to draw his bow or nock another arrow, Ivan leaped forward, throwing Natasha harshly to the side, where she hit the scratching brick wall and slid down, only able to stare in numb shock as Clint battled with the heavy-weighted Russian man.

Natasha had stood up and kicked Ivan in the head at just the right moment, before he attempted to plunge a small knife through her friend's heart. Clint, after recovering and pouncing on top of the stunned man, had had his bow loaded and pointed in between the middle of Ivan's eyes, before another shot rang out, sparking off of the ground in front of him. It had only been a distraction, because as soon as he recovered, a helicopter had descended, throwing down a rope ladder. Ivan had hopped on, his face dripping with blood and was carried off into the city, laughing maniacally.

Clint was covered with bruises, and a particularly nasty gash going all the way across the entirety of his battered ribcage. He was also pretty sure that three of his fingers and one of his toes were broken, despite the protective gloves and steel-capped boots.

They had limped back to the hotel, ignoring the snoring guy at the desk, up the stairs and to their room. Clint now found himself thinking over exactly what Ivan had said, thinking about the things he had said Natasha had done in cold blood, and revealing the details of the Red Room in the midst of their fight. The guy was quite a chatterbox, and it had annoyed Clint to no end.

The archer stood up, groaning in unison with the rusted springs, wrapping his arms around himself and hobbling over to where Natasha was, gingerly sitting down in front of her. She didn't even acknowledge him, too deep within the darkest places of her mind to notice.

"Hey, Nat?" He asked softly, scooting a little closer to her still form.

She merely glanced at him in mild surprise, but still not saying a word. "I'm a little banged up, and there's this puncture wound in my back that I don't think I can reach, can you patch it up for me?" He asked with a soft smile, turning around so that his back was to her, and looking over his shoulder for confirmation. She looked him in the eyes briefly, before nodding her head, letting her fiery locks fall into her eyes as she got up to retrieve the bright red first-aid kit from Clint's duffel bag.

He heard her settle down behind him and tug at his shirt, and he peeled it over his head in an instant. Clint hissed through his teeth as she dabbed a soft clean cloth in antiseptic and cleaned the many cuts that littered his marred skin, knowing that his best friend didn't hold back when it came to patching him up, she was gentle, but if the injury needed a little more attention, she wouldn't hold back, getting the job done quickly and efficiently.

This had been the way the two of them had done things for years now, patching each other up after missions, if they didn't have immediate access to a SHIELD Medical Centre. It was something soothing that calmed them both down after a rough fight, or, in this case, took their minds off of things when whatever had happened took more than a physical toll.

The Black Widow hummed under her breath, to a gentle Russian lullaby that calmed his grated nerves. He felt himself sigh as the wiped the cool cloth over his heated skin, leaning back and joining in on the simple tune he had picked up from listening closely. He gritted his teeth as the sharp needle pressed through the flesh around a deeper gash next to his shoulder blade, but still hummed along with his friend. He didn't stop when she turned him around and began the much longer task of stitching up his ribcage, and continued the tune and she bandaged his broken fingers and stopping when he got up and slipped a clean shirt over his head.

He gingerly made his way around the couch and sat down next to his friend, sighing and leaning his head against her shoulder. "Don't worry Tasha', I don't give a damn what that creep said, what you did or where you did it. We all have demons, but I'm still your best friend, I still have your back through thick and thin, and I always will, okay?" Clint said into the cool air of the room.

Natasha gave a heart wrenching sob, trying to stifle it by throwing her hand over her mouth and burying her head in her knees. Very gently, Clint lifted her head up, tugged her hand away from her lips and pulled her close, refusing to let go as she sobbed into his chest, and burying his head in the crook of her neck.

Her sobs turned into wails, finally letting loose all that had been held back for so long, letting the man she knew as her best friend be her anchor as poured her heart out. Clint felt his heart break as the strongest woman he had ever known faced her demons, battling her internal monsters as he held her.

It felt like hours before she finally stopped, only releasing the occasional sob ever once in a while, but they still held onto each other for dear life. If Natasha had to have her mental breakdown in front of anyone, she was sure damn glad that it was Clint, the man that had proven to be trustworthy, saving her life on more than one occasion, putting up with her bad moods, battling her sharp words with his own dry sense of humour, making her laugh, and even making her scream and break things at times, her best friend.

As her sobs ceased completely, she sighed into his chest and spoke.

"Clint…. Thank-you."

"Anytime Tasha, I'm here for you anytime."

The two slipped into a comfortable sleep on the floor, Natasha snoring softly against Clint's chest, and Clint sitting with his head lowered and resting on his friends shoulder, the ache in his neck he would wake up to well worth it, as the two rested with ease and slept away the events of the night.

* * *

 **Just an idea that I toyed with, just remember that this is completely platonic guys, Clintasha, but no romantic, inspired by Natasha saying that she 'almost lost her best friend' in Age of Ultron. Please review, I hope you liked it!**


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